And You Will Warm My Bed
by Una Dougal
Summary: It's not a quip. Belle's duties at the Dark Castle are not all that she expects or dreads when she is commanded to go to a bedroom in the tower.


"And you will warm my bed." Rumplestiltskin added, following his 'quip' about skinning children.

Belle was certain she could not have heard that right. "Excuse me?"

He settled back in his chair and steepled his long grey-green fingers in front of his nose, studying her from beneath half-lowered eyelids. Golden sparks seemed to shimmer across his skin. "I believe you heard me." He remarked with a high-pitched cackle.

Belle blushed. She had been dreading just this sort of thing. She swallowed hard and struggled to make eye contact, to not show fear in the face of this man who held her fate in his hands.

She heard him move, shifting forward to rest his elbows on the heavy wood table with a subtle thud. On the pretext of tossing her mane of auburn hair back, she finally succeeded in defiantly looking him in the eyes.

He stared, dark unfathomable eyes studying her reactions. Defiance was something he had not truly expected so soon, it intrigued him. Almost against his will he felt the corners of his mouth turn upward in a smile that he forced into a grin, hoping the effect was more devious than friendly.

"And if I refuse?" Belle asked, just a shade to the defiant side of neutral, keeping her face as calm as she could to conceal the dread and fear boiling up in her mind. She hoped that the hint of arousal she felt was just the side effect of her racing heartbeat and not, perish the thought, an indication that she could be even slightly _attracted_ to her new lord and master. She forced herself to breathe slowly and embody the calm façade she had presented at court, and especially to Gaston. This was a look she had perfected when her now-former fiancé had leered at her and suggested inappropriate things.

"Oh, dearie. You're good," the sarcastic little sorcerer pointed a finger in her direction with a languid motion. "Yes, indeed. You are _very_ good."

Belle swallowed again, afraid that she had started something she could not get out of as Rumplestiltskin laid both palms on the table and stood slowly, pushing himself up. He approached her even more slowly than he had risen, stalking the length of the banquet table, his gaze never leaving her face. He was fascinated by the dilation of her eyes, the blush that crept across her cheeks to shade her neck and faded into the creamy skin of her upper chest exposed by the low cut of her golden gown, and the way she licked her lips as her pulse quickened.

"I've rarely seen anyone have enough presence of mind to _question_ me." He remarked, drawing the word 'question' out a syllable longer than Belle thought strictly necessary. He circled to the left, trapping her between his body and the table, "You would have made an excellent diplomat... just the right mix of demure condescension and brassy boldness." Circling behind her, he idly stroked a lock of her hair, watching the auburn tendril curled around his finger, almost distractedly he said more quietly, "Whoever had you by his side, dearie could have ruled the world."

Belle found her voice then, though she shivered at his nearness. "You haven't answered my question." She said quietly, disturbingly aware of the warmth and faint zinging energy of suppressed magic radiating off his body: he was too close.

She felt his breath stir the stray tendrils of her hair when he told her softly, "There is a bed in this house that needs warming, and I expect you to be in it. That was not a quip; I meant it quite literally… though," he giggled, "not the way you fear."

As he stepped hastily away, Belle turned to face him, her blue eyes suddenly locked with his. It was his turn to be discomfited. Was that a touch of pained pride that flashed there ever so briefly? Rumple found himself reassessing his new prize: demure yet quick-witted; proud but not stupid, and though obviously innocent, dangerously lovely. He concluded that her people had drastically undervalued her. It had been a wildly unbalanced transaction: taking her in exchange for averting disaster from her homeland. Walking away, he wondered what this deal was ultimately going to cost him.

So it was that later that night, Belle made her way to the room he had instructed with a candlestick to light her way through the dark castle, her mind awash with nervous trepidation. When she found the room and turned the heavy brass doorknob, swinging the massive door open, she was surprised to find the room lit by the soft golden glow of a modest candelabrum. There was a dresser and a wardrobe, a wing-backed chair, a side table with a small pile of books, and a large bed; nothing was overly fancy or ornate. Though there were richly colored tapestries on two walls, a heavily curtained window, and a Persian carpet covering most of the floor, the room was of reasonable size for all it contained and her first thought concerning the overall effect was of a comfortable and serviceable room. She stepped inside and shut the door quietly. Of the sorcerer, there was no sign. She wondered when he might make an appearance and exile her back to 'her room' in the cold, damp dungeon. An unbidden sigh of regret passed her lips. This was a room she could have felt at home in, if it were hers.

She approached the bed hesitantly, although she figured she might as well get this over with. Belle was surprised to find a linen shift laid out across the dark coverlet. She looked around, sure that he must somehow be watching her, testing her again. Satisfied that she was really alone, she reached out to touch the garment. It was soft as a whisper and light, though she was surprised, (and secretly a little disappointed) to find that it was not quite see-through. It seemed to be ordinary linen though very finely made. She picked it up and held it against her chest, it appeared that it would be a perfect fit.

Belle smiled. Then her attention was drawn to a note that fluttered down off the shift. She set the garment back on the bed and stooped to retrieve the small square of parchment from the floor.

She read "Please have a bath first. Can't have you smudging up my sheets. R."

"Of all the preposterous…" Belle fumed, looking about the room again, positive that this was all some elaborate joke. She spied the three-panel folding screen between the dresser and wardrobe and had to wonder if there wasn't a tub concealed in that dark corner of the room.

Behind the carved wood screen was a large copper bathtub full of steaming water and a stool with a folded towel next to it. Glass potion bottles containing various colored liquids lined a small shelf nearby. Belle set her candlestick on top of the shelf and picked up a medium sized bottle of a bright green solution. She removed the stopper and cautiously sniffed the contents. It smelled, she thought, of Springtime. Taking a deeper whiff, she decided that the scent was a combination of sweet violets, soapwort flowers, lily of the valley and green apples with a touch of mint. She poured a bit of the stuff on her fingertips and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, figuring that this must be what passed for soap in the sorcerer's home. She rinsed her hand in the warm water and was rewarded by apple-scented suds when she wiggled her fingers.

Deciding that there was no point pressing her luck by opening another bottle, Belle struggled out of the golden ball gown she had worn since her last day in her father's court. It had taken her maid some time to help her into the outfit that day, and now –a day and a half later- she had to remove it by herself. "Hmph." She said to herself, "When I put this on, I expected not to live to see another day. All things considered, undressing myself is the least of my worries." She breathed out as much air as she could and managed to loosen the ties in back of the bodice enough to wriggle it down over her hips then step out of it. She thought wryly that if Rumplestiltskin was watching her, the least he could have done would have been to help out with the escape from the golden gown. She avoided saying so aloud.

Her corset and underskirt, then pantaloons and stockings joined her gown on the floor in short order and Belle was suddenly aware of how liberating it was to shuck off the layers of clothing she had been wearing. She felt tired, as if the reinforcements of corset stays and boning had been all that kept her upright after two very eventful days. She eased herself carefully into the tub and sighed at the comforting warmth of the water.

She dozed in the warm tub, at once feeling as though this whole scenario was to lull her into a false sense of security and simultaneously not really caring if it was. She told herself that she had known the risks of entering into this pact with the notorious Rumplestiltskin. The alternative would have been certain death, not only for herself but for her entire city. She was under no illusions that her death in particular would have been clean or quick. So far her virtue was intact and for that, though she felt an odd little pang of regret, she was thankful.

Watching the steam curl up from the surface of the water, Belle wondered how long she was likely to remain a maiden in this house. Her employer had a reputation for being a villain, but it seemed to extend only to taking advantage of those desperate enough to call upon him with something he wanted in trade. She had never heard anything that indicated his sexual proclivities one way or the other. The thought made her sit up in the tub. Did he even have such habits, she wondered. For a moment she wondered if he might be one of those who preferred boys, but there had been an undeniable look of elemental hunger in his eyes when he had declared his price: _"it's her… or no deal" _he had said, and then there had been his hand at the small of her back as he ushered her out of her father's presence. Still, she wondered as she washed the grime of the dungeon out of her hair, was this her wild imagination spinning something that wasn't really there?

Belle told herself that she was being ridiculous. She submerged as far as she could, rinsing her hair underwater, imagining that he would be standing there watching her when she broke the surface again. She was strangely disappointed that he was not.

"Ridiculous." She chided herself, wringing out her long auburn locks as she stood up. Looking down at the cooling water and the apple-scented bubbles still bobbing on the surface, Belle sighed. "I suppose I'll have to bail that out tomorrow since there doesn't seem to be a drain." She decided the chore would be worth the effort as she rolled her shoulders, feeling the freedom of movement she had not had while wearing the golden gown. Shivering slightly in the night air, Belle toweled herself dry quickly and slipped the linen shift on over her head. The soft material felt delightful next to her skin and she let out a contented sigh as she climbed into the bed.

Now that she was clean and comfortable, Belle had ample opportunity to let her mind wander over the potential scenarios for the rest of this dark night. She watched the candles flickering lower and shivered. When would he come to her, she wondered? Not to her, she corrected herself, to bed. Would he exile her back to her cold dungeon room? Another shiver. She curled herself further under the comforter, pulling a pillow under her head. Torn between letting herself relax into the soft, warm luxury of the bed, and the horrors and fantasies her over active imagination concocted, Belle kept herself awake for what seemed like hours. Each noise outside the door she imagined to be her captor coming to ravish her, smelling of mossy deep woods, lightning and leather. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine and she felt herself blush as moist heat pooled between her legs. She tucked her knees tightly together and drew them up to her chest.

"What nonsense," she scolded herself, "is a sorcerer even capable of _that_? Or has he traded physical power for magic?" At this her imagination set off into entirely new territory, spinning scenarios of herself brought to heights of sexual frustration by the use of magical torments, with no possibility for satisfaction. She found herself dwelling on the idea of his hands, of his long, ever-fluttering fingers and where and how these might feel stroking her skin. She felt the heat suffusing her face in a fierce blush, and lower, pooling in her core again. She rolled over and punched the pillow.

The longer she waited, the sleepier she got. Eventually Belle was so exhausted that she surrendered to sleep, though she went unwillingly. She dreamed that she was awake, lying in the same bed. She was startled to find herself completely naked, though her dream-self felt this was totally natural. In her dream she stretched and rolled over to find she was not alone beneath the covers.

The room was lit by a single candle burning almost to a stub, but she could certainly see who her companion was. In repose he looked quite different, she thought. The color of his skin had faded to a much more human shade, though he still looked as though he had been rolled in gold dust. He let out a contented sigh and reached an arm over her waist, stroking her back slowly and drawing her closer. In the dream she did not resist, but carefully pulled her arm free so that she could stroke his soft, wild hair. Rumplestiltskin's eyes opened then, and they too were different; more warm and golden than the reptilian look she had seen in waking life. He sighed deeply, running his palm down the length of her back until he reached the back of her thigh and pulled her leg over his hip.

"It's far too soon for this, my dear." He told her, and even the voice was different; gentler and lower in tone, almost sad. "Best you wake up, love. But before you go…" He moved closer still until they were entwined together in a warm embrace, he rolled his hips into hers and there could be no doubt that he was aroused.

In the disjointed way of dreams, Belle was at once horrified and enticed by this scene. She felt as though she was watching from behind her own eyes, it occurred to her later to wonder if this was a vision of some sort since it seemed far too real to simply be a fabrication of her sleeping mind.

She felt the heat of passion and affection rising through her heart and suffusing her body. She parted her legs even more for him, almost whimpering when he laid his erection between her thighs but did not plunge into her wetness. He pulled her to him, pressing her breasts to his chest, and they lay like that for a moment, heart to heart.

"This is a dream, Belle." Rumplestiltskin told her in a voice ragged with passion, "You must wake up now, love. Wake up, Belle." He kissed her lips then and she moaned softly, tasting his tongue.

Belle awoke with a start. She found herself entangled in the covers and wondered if she had just kissed the pillow with as much passion as she had kissed _him_ in her dream.

* * *

At breakfast, Belle wore one of the dresses she had found in the wardrobe. Another note, this time left on the side table had informed her that the gown she had arrived in was not suitable for the work ahead of her and that she would find something more comfortable in the wardrobe and dresser. She had wondered what he was up to, but had investigated anyway. To her delight she had found a selection of clothing, scandalously including all the necessary undergarments. There were even shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe that fit her perfectly. She wondered, since these were not her things from home, where he had got them. She wondered too if they were created by magic, were they likely to vanish into thin air at some embarrassing point. Choosing not to worry overly much about that, Belle got on with her day. She resolved to push the hazy remnants of the dream she had that morning as far to the back of her mind as possible before she had to face Rumplestiltskin.

She set the tea tray down on the corner of the long table in the main hall.

Rumplestiltskin was sitting in his chair at the head of the table, a heavy book bound in dark green leather opened before him. He seemed not to notice his companion.

Belle cleared her throat softly. "Would you care for tea?" She asked, as carefully neutral as possible.

He glanced up from his book. "Damn." He muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, her hand poised above the tea set.

"I misjudged there," he said, returning to his reading "… pink is really not your best color, my dear. I should have given you blue."

Belle ran her hands down the front of the dress she had picked. There had been three, all in warm tones: pink, orange and red. She had chosen the pink one that day. "Why is that?" she dared to ask, pouring his tea anyway since he had evaded her question. This began to seem like a pattern to her, so she just forged ahead anyway.

"Hm?" He asked, glancing up at her when she set the teacup in front of him along with a plate of biscuits. He returned his attention to the book again but mumbled something about the remarkable color of her eyes.

Belle blushed, returning her attention to the tea tray. She felt mischievous, so she poured herself a cup and nibbled on a biscuit, taking a step closer to him to see what he was studying so intently.

It was pointless. He placed a black ribbon in the page and shut the tome as she approached. She could not read the title on the cover anyway, the letters seeming to swirl slightly as she looked at them.

Hazarding a guess, Belle asked, "Is it really safe to read books of magic at the dining room table?"

Rumple looked up at her queerly. "I've never had to worry about anybody else looking at them before." He took a sip of tea and pushed the book aside. "Now that you mention it though, it was probably not the best idea to bring it down here."

"I didn't mean anything…" Belle began, flustered and fearing his wrath.

He raised a hand to stop her. "I know, dearie. I know. You wouldn't be able to understand that book regardless. Your amazing proclivity for reading aside. But there are others who can, and while no one bedsides me usually has access to it… let's just say I've had to change the way some things are done around here now that you've come."

"Oh." It had not occurred to her that this might be the case.

"Which reminds me, how do you like your room?" He asked, watching her as intently as he had the previous night.

"Which room do you mean?" She asked, choosing to be as evasive as he to see how he dealt with being on the receiving end of it.

He grinned and said with his strange wailing giggle, "Why the one I sent you to last night, of course! You didn't honestly expect me to keep you locked up in that dungeon for eternity, did you?"

Belle breathed a sigh of relief, eating another biscuit. "The thought had crossed my mind." She replied.

He scowled up at her, almost pouting. Obviously this girl didn't get the joke. He found it somewhat gratifying that this noble creature seemed to have grown up without the sense of pampered entitlement so endemic to her class. He was reassessing again. "That would have been extremely unproductive." He remarked.

She grinned at him, "Well, you did say you need a caretaker. That would have been fairly difficult to do if I was confined to a cell."

"Eating up all my bread and water," He remarked with a giggle.

Belle nodded gravely, "Yes." She agreed.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled." He said, as though it was.

Belle left him to his book and returned to the kitchen in a much happier frame of mind.

Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand returned to pouring over his book in search of a spell or anything really to make sense of the visions he had seen while scrying early that morning. He was troubled at the darkness between the present and the future he had seen when looking for images of Belle. He had seen darkness before, in the Ogre Wars certainly, and also within himself since taking the power of the Dark One, but this was something on a catastrophic scale. It was as if a curtain of blackest night fell across the entire world, barring even his second sight from penetrating through the gloom. It was born and bred of magic, the darkest sort: the most intricate and all-encompassing curse he had ever imagined. It seemed boundless, endless and virtually unbreakable.

Yet, just before the first rays of dawn had shattered his reverie he _had_ glimpsed an end to it. Although his Belle and every trace of her had vanished before the darkness, suddenly she was with him again and a new day was breaking as the curse was breaking. What he had seen and felt shook him to the foundations of his soul. Indeed, he was surprised to find that he still had one, or rather that it was restored to him. And _she_ was at the heart of it: Belle was the key.

He struggled to make sense of what his future sight had shown him and for the first time since becoming the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin was afraid.


End file.
